parenting

Several years ago, I was mentoring a woman who was leaving her corporate job and launching an executive coaching practice.

She was scared stiff.

It was rather interesting to me that she was so risk-averse – most people who start professional service businesses have to be at least a little bit comfortable with Not Knowing – and the story she told herself (and me) was:

“This might not work. Actually, it’s a huge longshot. Most new businesses fail and I will probably be one of them. Oh, man. I am leaving a secure, steady paying job for a job that is destined to fail. I cannot believe I am doing this. What am I thinking?”

Need I mention that her stress level was sky high?

And because of the way she is wired, she needed to talk it out with people in order to come to terms with this big change.

Which can be OK.

And can also be the absolutely worse possible thing anyone can do.

Here’s what she told her young daughters:

“Mommy is starting her own business. Which means she’s going to be leaving her job and will be working from home. It also means that we’re going to need to start really saving money. You’re going to have to give some things up. So (their longtime babysitter) is going to stop coming, and (their favorite hobby) is too expensive so we’ll have to stop that. You both will need to do more chores around the house, and you’re each going to have one night a week where you’ll cook supper.”

What eight year old wouldn’t burst out into tears after hearing that?

***

Recently, I overheard a sports coach talking with his team. They were a pretty good team facing a really good team. A really, really good nationally-ranked team. He said:

“We can beat these guys! I want you to really focus and make it count! You can do this! You can beat them!”

And every player on the team thought:

“There is no way in hell we can beat this team. We lost before we suited up. I hope I don’t embarrass myself – how soon can we get this game over with?”

They lost.

***

How different would it have been for the mother starting her own business to say:

“I am so excited! I am starting my own business! I am really scared but at the same time, I’m really proud of myself. I’m going to need you guys to help me succeed – think you could do that? Let me teach you how to make spaghetti because it would be such a huge help if you could make it every Tuesday!”

What if the sports coach had said:

“Look, we have such an amazing opportunity tonight! We’re playing a nationally-ranked team and they didn’t get there by being total slackers. Tell you what – let’s not worry about the score in this game. Let’s just figure out how they do what they do. Let’s learn their secret sauce tonight. Then, let’s steal it so we can get to the point where we’re nationally-ranked, too. Who’s with me?”

I don’t know about you, but I’m saying yesyesyesyesyesyes.

***

I bet there’s a story you’re telling. And I’ll even bet you like telling it. I assume you’re pretty darn good at it – even have it memorized.

But.

Maybe there’s a different way to tell it so other people jump in with you to make the leap you need to make.

Maybe there’s a way to say what you need to say that inspires others to give you the hand you know you need.

I’ve been writing every Sunday since, oh, the dawn of time (Internet time, at least) and some of those Sundays have also been Mother’s Day.

Last year, I wrote my own version of Lean In, I guess, with What Working Moms Really Want. I just re-read this one and I really like it. Perhaps that’s a funny thing to say, but I don’t often go back and read things I’ve written.

With me and writing it’s totally catch and release.

In 2011, I imagined what an Empty Nest Mother’s Day would be like. I’m getting closer and closer to that reality today, and while I caught this one, it’s harder and harder to release with each passing day.

I asked Who’s A Mom? in 2010, which I consider my love letter to everyone – both men and women – who reach out and help children.

“With every kindness to a child, you create a better world,” I said then, and I mean it still.

Then in 2009, I repeated a column from 2007 simply called “Mother’s Day”, where I suggested we celebrate every holiday every single day.

Somehow that brilliant idea didn’t really catch fire.

In the sandwich year there, 2008, I wrote about busyness (it must have been in context of my own situation) with Repeal HAFTA.

And in May, 2006, I was a few months away from starting to blog so the words were still in my head and heart, unreleased.

What a journey. What an experience. What richness.

And right now I’m talking about my 20+ years of mothering two wonderful people who inspire me every day to step up, be present and be fully myself.

Because when I am able to do that, they are able to do so, too. It’s a love circle, baby.

And, believe me, I get so much more than I give.

Oh, people, I am truly blessed. May you find blessings, too – full with love and acceptance – in each and every one of your days.

Not that I get ahead of myself normally, but today I’m imagining the first Mother’s Day I spend alone, as an empty-nester. It’s really not too far away – after all, I have an 18 year old and a 15 year old.

On that day, my kids will be in a dorm or an apartment somewhere, finishing up or getting ready for finals, maybe preparing for the work day ahead. I’ll wake up, early as usual, and let the dogs out. I’ll breathe in the spring air and wonder at the vibrant green of the budded trees. Because I know what day it is, I’ll say a silent thank you for having had the chance to be a mom.

Later, after the paper and something to eat, I’ll pull on my shoes and take a walk through the forest. It’s quiet and dark in there – even in mid-day. And among that peace, I’ll acknowledge that I raised two pretty terrific young people.

At some point or other, my phone will ring – no, wait. At some point or other, I’ll get a text saying: “Mom thinking of u. love u. happy mothers day.” To which I will text: “Can u call me?” And then my phone will ring and I’ll hear the sweetest voices any human ever heard. I’ll hear the voices of my kids.

And I will be so grateful. And happy.

<Right after I get these tears out of my eyes.>

See, I love being a mother. And I’m good at it. In fact, being good at it was the biggest surprise of my life. That I could find so much love, and so much ability to love, just because I had these two kids in my life – amazing.

And today – right here, right now – my life and the lives of my children are congruent and yet entwined, and we see each other every day and eat meals together and laugh together and discuss weighty topics in the dark together.

Because we are a family.

And when I shoot forward to the time when my kids are launched, and on their own, I wonder how I will spend my time. What will give me meaning? Will anything replace what I’ve had with my kids?

What will it be like when I’m not Mom-On-Call?

Will we still be a family?

That moment right there is going to be “one of those moments” for me. One of those pivotal, life-defining moments.

Having an empty nest will be the time for me to celebrate the past – and my role – and open my arms wide to what’s next.

Just like I did when I graduated from high school and became a college student. Like I did when I graduated from college and became a working person. Like I did when I went from single to being married. From being 29 to being 30. From being childless to being a mom. From being 39 to being 40. From being married to being single. From being healthy to having cancer, and then to being cancer-free. From being 49 to being 50.

I’ve done this redefinition many times before, I can do it again.

But the major difference is this: One day I stopped being 29, and I never could go back. But I’ll never stop being a mother. It’s a lifetime gig.

I’ll just keep finding a new way to mother them at every stage of their lives. Just as an infant needs one thing and a teenager needs another, I’ll find a way to mother Grace, the new mother. To mother Munroe, the new father. To comfort both of them when they suffer loss, because they will. To celebrate their joys, because they’ll have them. To offer advice when they ask (now, waiting for them to ask is going to suck, but I’ll try. I swear I’ll try.)

There will be a lot to keep in mind. I’ll have to stay engaged and connected. But the most important thing for me to remember is this: if I am just myself, and do as well as I’ve done so far, I’ll be fine.

I’ll always be a mom. And, today, from where I stand, that feels pretty wonderful.

We’re standing in a ragged gaggle at a grown-up party. Cocktails in hands. Dressed up slightly for a Saturday night (nice jeans instead of the neighborhood’s traditional weekend uniform of yoga pants and sweats). We’re feeling festive-ish, even.

When she says, “Michele is so funny. I mean, you always say the funniest things. Say something funny, Michele.”

All eyes turn to me.

And I got…nothing.

I mean, nothing. My mind is totally blank.

Faintly, you can hear the sound of crickets in the distance. Chirping.

I shrug. “It’s kind of hard to be funny on demand.” I get a courtesy fake-laugh – because obviously I am so totally hilarious – and the gaggle breaks up. I wonder if I should have hauled out the joke that got me published in Highlights magazine as a fifth grader: What kind of ears do engines have? Engineers! (OK, I stole it off a bubble gum wrapper, but I was published!)

In this era of “on demand” everything, we often find ourselves in this same predicament – put on the spot to serve someone else’s needs – although it can come in other guises.

Your boss says: “We have a great opportunity to get five tons of raspberries but we have to decide right now!” The fact that you work at a law firm who has absolutely nothing to do with raspberries doesn’t feature – it’s an immediate opportunity and it moves to Urgent status.

And you got nothing but crickets chirping in the distance.

Because it’s stupid and a waste of time to even consider what you’d do with five tons of raspberries when you do contract law and, besides, you’ve got plenty of other things to do.

It’s like when your kid says: “Moooooooooom.” Or: “Daaaaaaaaaaad.” Even from another room, you know the tone. You jump up from whatever you’re doing and run in there. Panting, you say, “What!?” He needs you to find the remote. She needs you to find a certain pink ponytail elastic.

In that moment, their urgency becomes your urgency.

And you’re just a little bit cheesed off.

Come on, you can admit it. It’s frustrating when will-‘o-the-wisp, fleeting fancies that are urgent to someone else take you away from serving your own priorities.

What would happen if you said to your kid: “I am in the middle of something, honey. I can be there in five minutes.” I’ll tell you what would happen. He’d find the remote. She’d either find the ponytail thingy or decide on a headband. They’d figure it out.

What if you said to the raspberry hoarding executive: “I am just wrapping up the Framastam contract. Can you give me thirty minutes?”

[As an aside, I know this makes you nervous because a boss is a boss and to be obeyed (it’s amazing how many people tell me this – as if Odin, God of War himself were seated in the corner office – when I know for a fact that the guy in there is usually really uncertain, kind of frightened and slightly in over his head).]

But trust me, if you asked for thirty minutes, Mr. Raspberry 2011 would find another sucker co-worker to play out his drama. And you could get on with your business.

What do you do, then, in your own life when faced with a figurative five tons of raspberries?

Well, when asked to drop your own priorities to adapt to the flaky urgency of another, my friend, take a deep breath and remember this simple mantra:

The most important thing you need to know is what’s most important to you.

I was standing in my kitchen the other morning, exhausted. It’s been that kind of week. Lots of people giving me unsolicited advice about who I should be and what I should be doing. A lot of assumptions made about me and who I am. Several well-meaning folks attempting to graft their yardstick of success on to me because, very obviously to them, I have fallen short.

As I stood there, baffled, buffeted, blue – and exhausted – I had the most wonderful epiphany.

The most important thing in my life became crystal clear.

My true priority revealed itself.

And in a moment I knew that everything would be OK – because, day in and day out I am serving what’s most important to me. To me. Not to the well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning folks I encountered last week.

I am putting my energy where I want it to go, and that’s the right thing to do.

Because my number one priority is being a present parent for my children.

And although you love me, well-meaning friends, and want to see me on the Today show, knee to knee with Matt Lauer, I’m not going to do it if it means I’ll miss my daughter’s softball game. I’m just not.

And although you don’t understand it, other folks, when I tell you that I’m not that interested in traveling to Marrakesh or Istanbul unless my kids can come too, I’m sorry.

And for those who think I should be making a ton more money than I do – that I’m “leaving it on the table” – you are absolutely right.

That’s a by-product of serving my priority.

Sure, I could be back in a corporate job with a fatter paycheck and juicy stock options. But that’s not my priority.

My kids are.

Let me clarify. I am no helicopter parent. I am not all up in my kids’ business. When I say my kids are my priority, I have an intention. And my intention is to be reliable, dependable, connected – present – for them. Because that’s how I think independent, functioning, happy adults are formed. And my big responsibility is to sherpa them to their adult life. That’s my job.

And I’ve chosen a career for right now that allows me to serve that priority as fully as possible. See, being a self-employed coach allows me to make some key decisions for myself. For instance, I don’t work between 4pm and 7pm. Just don’t. That’s the time we go to the dermatologist (did I mention that they’re teenagers?), the dentist, the doctor, the orthodontist (did I mention that they’re teenagers?), and every other -ologist known to man.

Four to seven is softball practice and/or games. It’s the time for a run to Target for poster board. It’s when we walk the dogs, or practice a change-up. It’s time to sit on the sofa watching Ellen and discussing both marijuana use in middle school, and what constitutes a hootchie-mama outfit.

This is the golden time that we sit down to dinner together.

A couple of nights a week, I teach or take clients after seven, which works because that’s allegedly homework time (did I mention that they’re teenagers?).

It works. I make the all the money I want to make, I have the time to serve my highest priority.

But here’s the trick. Saying, “My kids are my number one priority” is pretty daggone politically correct. Who would publicly say otherwise without fear of being hauled into the town square (or Twitter) and being stoned by the community?

You are allowed to have your own priority. And it might be growing a business. Or climbing the corporate ladder. Or creating incredible art. Or treating malaria in Africa.

Wherever you spend most of your time, or want to spend most of your time, that’s your priority.

And if you are out of sorts, blue, off step – then look at how you are spending your time and creating your days. If you are spending time on stuff that’s not really your priority, start making some changes.

And you can start by putting your fingers in your ears, saying, “nah, nah, nah, nah, nah” to shut out the voices of folks who would tell you what your priority should be.

The other day I saw a young father holding his young son in his arms. The boy was crying, and the father kept saying, “Now, stop your crying. Listen to me. Stop crying.”

Of course, the little boy only cried harder.

And that’s how it goes, right? As I walked past I thought of all the times I told my children to stop crying. Why? Because their tears made me uncomfortable. Geez, it was awkward. I had no clue what to do with a crying child. I was worried what other people thought of me as a mother — I mean, my kid was sobbing hysterically. Doesn’t that trigger the Really Bad Mother Alert?

As I watched that young father, my heart went out to him. And I thought about what I’d do now if I were in that same spot.

I think I’d say to my little child, “Honey, it looks like you need some time to cry. How much time do you think you might need? OK. I’ll be right over here — you take all the time you want.” And I’d sit and wait until the crying was done.

‘Cuz sometimes we all need to cry.

I’d let my kid decide when he was through feeling sad or angry or whatever, rather than tell him when to stop. If we’re told to deny our unpleasant feelings when we’re very young, how in the world can we expect to know how to handle them when we’re adults?

There are a lot of people out of a job today. Yet, many of them are stuck in their job search. Why? Because they haven’t honored what they really need — understanding and acceptance of why they were let go from their previous job. Every single day they get that old message, “Stop it now. Stop crying. Suck it up. Get on with it.”

And this is why folks get stuck. And why they bomb job interviews. And they remain in limboland.

Because they haven’t taken time to honor the full sweep of their emotions over losing their last job.

If your self-talk is all about the past — the wrongs done to you, how stupid your old boss was, what idiots they were to keep Joe and let you go (sound at all familiar?) — then do yourself a favor. Set yourself up for success by taking some time to fully feel how sad you are. Mourn the real loss you’ve suffered.

You may have heard that your results reveal your true intentions, and that is absolutely, 100% true. If you are out of work and not really working on your job search, what might be holding you back is the past.

“Oh, sure,” you say. “I’m out of work and she wants me to get all introspective! I don’t have time — I need some money!”

I’m not saying wallow. Or become paralyzed. I’m saying have yourself a good cry for as long as you need to. I’m saying let it out and let it go. And then wipe your eyes and get back on track.

Because when you finally come to terms with the grief you’ve been denying, you will have let go of the past and planted your feet firmly in today. Let go of the past, sugar, and it has no power over you. You’ll be happier, and look happier, and feel happier.